


A Dark Congregation

by AnonymousMink



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Blood Bond, F/M, I make shit up about the kree again, Mentor/Protégé, Ronan and his Weapon, This is how I get excommunicated from yet another fandom., Unhealthy Relationships, Vers the Accuser, at length, dark!Carol, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-28 07:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousMink/pseuds/AnonymousMink
Summary: “You have heard of what the Starforce boy brings back with him then?” Green eyes flashed at him, an imperfection in the image. His father had borne the violet eyes of the ancients, not this acid green abomination.“I have,” Ronan nodded, letting the thought sink like a stone to the bottom of his consciousness where it could not be used against him, “and I have come to place my bid for it.”—-AU where Ronan is the one who trains Vers, the one who shares his blood with her... and all that comes with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look I don’t know either okay. I’m just fascinated by this idea and DenseHumboldt (love of my life that she is) was egging me on and look - I’ve posted it! I’ve posted the first chapter of this fever dream!
> 
> I have no idea when or if I’m gonna write more, because honestly this whole thing is an exercise in MADNESS.

Ronan stood in the heart of the SI, unbowed before the simulacrum.

“You have heard of what the StarForce boy brings back with him then?” Green eyes flashed at him, an imperfection in the image. His father had borne the violet eyes of the ancients, not this acid green abomination. 

“I have,” he nodded, letting the thought sink like a stone to the bottom of his consciousness where it could not be used against him, “and I have come to place my bid for it.”

The SI sought out weakness, holding it up like a mirror, every insecurity was an opportunity to it.

Ronan knew the best way to play its game was to free himself of doubt. His mind a dark well it was as easy to drown in as to swim. 

“You understand what you ask, Son of Sol, Grandson of Ahn, you would give your  _ blood _ to this Terran creature?”

Distaste crinkled the simulacrum’s face, a mockery of an expression Ronan knew all too well. He’d seen it too many times in the flesh to be weakened by this pale imitation.

Besides, he knew  _ exactly _ what he was asking.

“I would give my blood to the greatest weapon the Empire has ever seen,” he didn’t flinch, didn’t flutter, distaste in his mouth as he was forced to barter for what should have been rightfully his.

Commander Rogg may have found her but Ronan was the only one who could truly mould her. The Supreme Intelligence would recognise that, he was sure.

It would hardly be  _ supreme _ if it didn’t. 

“You are a proud man, Ciel Ronan.”

A muscle in his jaw clenched, something ticking at the name. He had given it up when he ascended to the head of the House of Ronan, as his predecessors had before he. He would not see it returned until he joined the collective, to use it now was an insult.

One he would not rise to.

“I am right.” He said flatly, “If you give her to me I will fashion a weapon to destroy our enemies wherever they stand. But know this - if you do so she will be mine alone to shape. I will stand no interference.”

“You truly believe you can deliver this, Ciel?” 

“My name is Ronan,” he held his chin high, “and I will deliver all of it and  _ more.” _

The simulacrum narrowed its eyes, considering and silent as the moment stretched. Weighing him up like a beast at market. 

“Very well then, Accuser,” they said at last, “she is yours. I will clear her mind of all that came before, instil in her our language and ways but the rest will be in your hands. Take her and bring us back a weapon.”

—-

She was beautiful.

Ronan hadn’t been expecting that.

Nothing so mundane as the features or the form but the star light inside of her, an ever changing constellation of light that glowed as she slumbered. Barely restrained power sparking energy beneath her skin, drawing him to her like a moth to a flame.

The ritual was ancient. The spine of the living, breathing body of the Kree. The Kreloran nuns who maintained the temple at his estate had already prepared her. Washing her in healing herbs and anointing her with the marks of transference at each pulse point. He bore similar marks, his feet bare against the flagstones as he approached.

She was laid out on the stone slab like an offering, the crook of her arm already dressed and ready. Two of the attendants reached for him in silence, the scent of old magic filling his head as they drew the robe from his shoulders. Leaving him stripped to the waist as they helped him climb the dais next to her, laying out beside her, finger tip to finger tip in the hush of the temple.

The stone was warm and smooth, worn away by the thousands of rituals that had once taken place here. Incense thick and ripe in the air, expanding inside of his lungs until he could feel it seeping into his every cell.

The future sessions could take place in the med-bay of the main house but this, their first bonding, would be done right. Under the eyes of his great ancestors with all the ceremony it deserved.

He exhaled sharply as the needle pierced his flesh, drawing deeply at his veins as he arched against the stone. Taking his very essence from him with each greedy pull.

This was more than blood. This was  _ soul.  _ Every victory and defeat would be hers now, rising through the clear tube like ink and spilling into her. Rewriting her from the inside with his strength as they filled her veins with him.

It was an absolute binding. Two souls and blood lines becoming one being, inescapable and unbreakable. 

This was the change on which his world had turned, and through it he would save them all.

—

There was cold fire inside of her. A tree growing up along her centre and branching out into every aspect of her being. Lightning burst in steady, stinging pulses inside a body she couldn’t feel. She was formless, a memory of heat sizzling through nerves disconnected from themselves.

And then something new.

Something heavy and viscous inside a physical point. An anchor to a shape she couldn’t remember. It was a slow dripping tide, spilling into her and giving her dimensions. A start and an end. A network of familiar angles and edges coming alive and making her whole in the darkness.

It hurt in the best possible way. The slap before a baby’s first cry. 

It hurt like she was  _ alive _ . 

—-

Her memories began in a dark room.

She was lying in a bed that seemed built for comfort, aching with an emptiness she couldn’t explain as the hush-whir of something mechanical echoed over head.

Her limbs felt like they’d been injected with lead, heavy and useless beside her as she tried to adjust to the dim light. Her arms were pale against the dark sheets, the purple stain of bruises the only colour she seemed to have at all.

There was something in her arm. A needle in the crook of her elbow. A tube. Liquid, blue-black and viscous, pumping into her veins as she watched.

She was horrified by it but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know… she didn’t know  _ anything. _

Panic seized her, chest tightening like a vice as she struggled to remember where she was, or why. What had happened to her.  _ Anything.  _ The machinery beeped faster, a sharp echo in her skull as she fought for the use of her body. Hands clumsy and weak as she tried to knock the tube loose.

“Calm yourself,” the voice startled her, a base note of sound that seemed to shake down to her bones as large hands reached out and held her in place, “you are safe here.”

She didn’t  _ feel  _ safe. She felt scared. Small, weak and confused as she struggled against the heavy grip. 

It was even worse when she saw him.

He filled her vision, a void where a person should be dressed all in black. He towered over her, shrinking her down to a child as he looked at her with violet eyes that seemed to almost glow in the darkness.

She had a dim impression of his face being long, dominated by a heavy brow line and a perfectly straight nose. But those thoughts were washed away by the other, more pressing matter.

He was blue

_ Blue. _

_ Wrong,  _ her brain screamed,  _ this is wrong. People aren’t blue. _

Were they? 

“Who are you?” She tried to shout it but the words left her as a croak, jarring her again. She didn’t know what she sounded like but she didn’t think it was like that.

Was he a medic? He didn’t look like one.

_ Did he?  _

Everything was fuzzy, stilted, like someone had slipped a sheet of smoked glass between her and her memories. She could see their outlines if she squinted but everytime she reached for them she hit a barrier. Bruising herself more and more as she tried to hurl herself against it.

“I am Ronan,” he soothed in his deep, deep voice, “and you must be calm if you wish to get your strength back.”

Strength. She wanted that. She wanted to be strong. The urge pounded in her chest as she forced herself to stop struggling. Breathing just a fraction easier when his warm hands lifted from her skin. 

Now for the more pressing question.

“Who… who am I?”

“You are Ver’an,” he said, the name echoing in her head, strange even in his smooth voice, “although those here call you Vers.”

“ _ Vers _ ,” she repeated, it sounded better than Ver’an. Not quite right, but like it might’ve, could’ve been her. Forehead creasing she met his gaze, “Why can’t I remember anything?”

“Because you have nothing to remember, you have lived but for three weeks.”

_ Three weeks. _

“No… no that’s not right…” she struggled to sit up again, carefully this time. Only flinching a little as he reached to help her, “that can’t be right. I know stuff, not…  _ stuff  _ but things.”

The words were clumsy, tangling on her tongue as she tried to make him understand. She had a life she knew it, she just couldn’t remember it. But she remembered other  _ stuff _ . Like the words for arms and sheets and tubes. She knew he was tall, and that she didn’t like lying still. That she had hands and feet and could crack all of her knuckles but her left pinky. Frustration clawed up inside her chest as she fought to bring the rest of her memories back to her, to establish  _ context  _ as her temples throbbed.

His face turned solemn, huge hands smoothing over her shoulders as he shook his head. Pushing her back into the pillows.

“There was a woman, Ver’an, one who shared your skin, but she died so that you might live.”

Her heart clenched, a painful squeeze of feeling that seemed to echo within her. Like she might fracture right down the centre and bleed out entirely.

“I don’t… I can’t..,” she whispered, unable to look away from him and his strange purple eyes, “who was she?”

_ Who was I?  _ She amended, and what did he mean she had only lived for three weeks. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

_ Could it?  _

“I do not know,” he sighed and she hated how much she believed him, his gaze steady and solid, “she took her past with her into the collective. Perhaps some imprint of her lingers, but she is not you and you are not her. She gave herself to the starlight so you might be born.”

“I don’t understand,” the ache in her head grew, a desperate throbbing pain that took over everything else as it doubled and tripled on itself. She curled against it, body bowing as the emptiness threatened to swallow her whole, “ _ I don’t understand. _ ”

“I know,” his thumbs smoothed over her collar bones, holding her steady as the panic crested like a wave. Her only anchor against the pain as it rose and fell again, washing through her and leaving her gasping in its wake, “but you will Ver’an, give it time and you will.”

“You better not be lying to me.” She mumbled, suddenly so tired she could barely form the words. All of her questions tangling on her tongue as her body sank down into the mattress, “I don’t think I’m very good at being patient.”

“I promise you this,” he murmured as unconsciousness unhinged its maw beneath her, “I may not always answer you, or tell you everything you wish to hear, but I will not lie to you. Now rest, Ver’an, grow strong.”

Strong. She wanted to be strong. She wanted...

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Vers learnt was death, and her master taught it well.

It was not, as primitive cultures thought, the end, but rather a beginning. An alleviation of suffering for some, a punishment for others, a glorious return to the worthy. But it had to be  _ earned.  _ Lives taken unjustly had to be avenged by the living, the scales balanced by those left it behind. 

It was the heart of their peoples’ beliefs.

She herself had come from death. She understood that now, the year that had passed since she’d first awoken throwing things into sharper relief. Whoever the person was who had worn this skin before was gone, burnt away in a hail of starlight so she could arise as something new. Something  _ better _ .

It had scared her at first, then fascinated her - the power that sat like fire in her veins, warm and cool at the same time as it waited to get out. Surging desperately against her skin whenever she got frustrated or angry or well…  _ anything. _

That was the reason she had a suppressor sunk just beneath the skin of her neck. It stopped her from going supernova and burning down the estate by mistake, at least it would until she’d learnt to control it. 

And she was  _ determined _ to control it. 

She was a weapon for her people, forged to protect them and their empire. She was Kree after all, revived by Kree blood. 

_ Ronan’s _ blood. 

The binding was ancient, as sacred as any ritual they had, connecting her soul to soul with her saviour. He had brought her to life, even if it meant denying himself the choice of a worthy bondmate. Someone he knew. Someone he _loved_. He’d given it all up without ever knowing her on the belief that she could be an asset to their people. 

Putting their empire first, always.

The weight of his sacrifice sat heavy in her veins with the pulse of his blood, a mix of pride and fear and want burning within her. He had given her life, a place, a mission and a  _ destiny.  _ A reason to keep pushing as she struggled to learn how to live again. How to breathe, how to  _ fight. _

He was her only constant in a vast unknown universe and she had come to trust him implicitly.

“Are you ready, Ver’an?” He appeared as if she’d summoned him, the hour of the Hüm’bold upon them at last.

She exhaled sharply from her nose, this was it, the night he would accept her officially as his apprentice. The night she would swear herself to her empire before the old gods of their people. He towered over her as he joined her on the steps at the back of the house, dressed in the uniform of the Accusers. Uncompromising and  _strong _and everything she wanted to be.

“Yes,” she nodded firmly, adrenaline thrumming in her veins with the heady feeling of anticipation, “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Always so impatient,” Ronan sighed, shaking his head at her, “I thought I was teaching you better than this.”

“I’m excited,” she admitted, pulling at her sleeves as her heart beat heavy in her chest, “this is my first true Kree ritual.”

“Second,” he corrected sternly, his voice a deep swelling shadow that seemed to bypass her ears and connect directly to her spine, “the first was to bring you to life, this is to give you purpose. If you are  _ truly _ ready, that is, it is not something to be undertaken lightly.” 

He looked so serious she felt her stomach swoop, suddenly terrified he’d take it away from her. She was so close she didn’t think she could stand it.

“I know,” she nodded, laying her hand on his arm and letting him see the conviction in her face, “I’m  _ ready _ , Ronan.”

“Well then,” he bowed his head, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his usually stoic face, “the temple awaits.”

—-

She had the spirit of the Ancient Kree, their great ancestors who had the nerve to bask in their emotions. To feel them,  _ use  _ them, fuel themselves with their power.

He admired it greatly, even if it was his duty to repress it as often as he encouraged it. Her emotions were useful, but in front of the others she had to present the calm facade expected of them. 

She had to defer to his will too, to know when to bow before him and accept his rulings as if they were the words of the gods themselves. Like now. 

The Hüm’bold was a solemn rite, and she must perform it as such.

Ronan had never had an apprentice before, the ranks of the Accusers filled from the academy like most of their military was. But this was different.  _ She  _ was different. He would trust her to no hands but his own.

The walk from the main house to the temple was spent in silence, her fingers tight against his arm. He could practically feel her energy, the nervous hum that sat just beneath her skin as she looked forward with such abject determination. Always so eager to prove herself ready for the next step, the next challenge.

Determined to become the creature he knew she could be, the weapon that could save them all. He could not have asked for a more willing student. 

The sisters waited at the doors and he presented her to them with a bow. Nodding when she looked back at him with uncertainty in her eyes.

“I will see you inside,” he murmured, placing his hand on her shoulder, “be strong.”

“Always.” 

She inhaled deeply, granting him a sliver of a smile before letting the sisters take her to the initiate chamber. He watched her depart for a long moment before turning away, he had his own preparations to attend to. 

Letting the head of the order lead him deeper into the temple he gave himself up to their hands, the scent of incense already coiling in his lungs like a promise. Gnarled hands unfastened his tunic, drawing his undershirt from his skin before lifting his hood reverentially. The air was crisp and cool, a tightening sensation growing in his gut as they drew his arms out. Painting sigils against his wrists, his chest, an ancient language that spoke directly to his soul.

He knew Vers came here to pray sometimes, seeking connection.  _ Belonging _ . It was gratifying to see. She threw herself into her learning, absorbing his culture, _their_ _ _ culture, with a voracious appetite, one he was only too happy to feed.

Her body grew stronger every day, and with it her potential. Even now, somewhere in another honeycomb chamber she was being prepared for her destiny. Skilled hands brushing the marks of his people into soft, peach flesh. 

Her journey from initiate to apprentice fulfilled at last. 

Mediating his breath Ronan left the preparation chamber and took his place in the temple proper. It had stood unchanged for a thousand years, cold dark stone that shone in the candle light. As if the stars themselves were caught in their blocks. The slab where he had first laid eyes on her had been sunken into the ground in preparation for the ritual, a deep recess already filled with dark water. The scent of blood leaf clinging to its glass-still surface. 

Everything was ready. It only awaited her arrival.

—-

This was it.  _ This was it. _

Vers could barely keep her knees from shaking as she made her way across the temple. The stones were warm against the bare soles of her feet, her flimsy white robe whispering as she walked. 

Ronan was waiting, an anchor point against the unfamiliar rush of emotions. The heavy incense and heated air making her head spin as she fixed her gaze on him.

There was something different about him here, a power that twisted her lungs up into knots. The candlelight flickered over his towering form, his towering  _ half naked  _ form. She supposed it was only fair, initiates only got to wear a smock and a smile after all.

Still, he was something to look at all right. A beast of a man, his corded muscles thrown into deep relief beneath the broadest shoulders she could conceive. There was something even fiercer than usual about him with the black paint dark against his skin, but there was a vulnerability too. She had never seen him without his hood before, studying the smooth line of his head and the curve of his ears before she remembered where she was and snapped herself the hell out of it.

This was what she’d been waiting for. This ritual would mean he accepted her as his apprentice, that he would be her true, official master in the art of war. Of peace. That he would bestow upon her all he knew and make her  _ strong. _

That was all that mattered.

“Ver’an, blooded to the house of Ronan,” He said, voice rolling like thunder deep into the pit of her stomach, the sound magnified by the ancient stone until he was transformed into something not quite of their world, “do you come here to pledge yourself to your Empire in the sight of the ancient gods of the Kree? In front of Ran-ul the First Accuser, Nar-vena the First Defender, and Brinar the First Destroyer, whose souls await you in the collective?”

“I do,” she was proud that her voice didn’t shake, even if her hands did. Clenched tight at her sides as she craned her neck up to look at him as she repeated the words she’d learnt, “I would serve my people as I would serve you. My soul is as dedicated as the Accuser, my body as strong as the Defender, and my mind as righteous as the Destroyer. I would uphold their ways until I join them in the beyond.”

“Then come, Ver’an, enter as an initiate and leave a warrior. Take your first step on the path they have laid before you, and may glory await you there.”

He held his hands out to her. She didn’t allow herself to hesitate, her breath catching as she took them, letting him lead her down into the pool.

The water was crisp and cold, a welcome change from the sticky heat of the temple. It licked at her skin, swirling against her thighs as she stepped deeper and deeper until she was up to her waist in it. 

The silk of her shift dragged at her, shivers chasing along her spine as he braced one hand against her waist. She was close enough she swore she could feel his heartbeat. A bass drum holding a steady beat as he gathered water in his other hand.

“Blood leaf purify her,” his voice sank deep inside of her as he poured the black liquid over her crown, shaking her down to her bones as it dripped from her forehead down the ridge of her nose, “put strength in her bones, and courage in her heart. Let her serve her Empire with honour until she is one again with the collective.”

She felt his words like a battle cry in her chest, heat flushing through her as he nodded. Taking hold of her more firmly before lowering her slowly into the thick, sweet scented water for the true cleansing. The moment she would go from  _ before  _ to  _ after. _

Vers breathed in a last, deep breath before shutting her eyes and letting the water close over her. 

Her whole world became darkness. Nothing but her heart beat and his hands as the cold swallowed every inch of her. She was weightless, open and blissfully empty as it seemed to sink into her pores.  _ Renewing _ her. 

When Ronan lifted her from the pool it was as a different person, as more than just herself.

She was his apprentice now, an extension of his teachings and a scion of his house. 

She was a warrior, and she would not let him, or her people, down. No matter the cost.

  
  
  



End file.
